Congratulations
by Aidan McMurry
Summary: Jigsaw's legacy remains famous 20 years later in a dark and chilling San Francisco.
1. Chapter 1

"Congratulations George, you've made it this far. You killed the other two. You found that life is more important than wasting it. The door will open soon. I hope you have found what's important in this world. But one last thing, don't check inside the toilet, it's deadly…disgusting."

George looked around, mapping his surroundings; his eyes avidly darting for a clue. He walked over to the toilet, it was disgusting, just how the tape said it would be. He poked his flashlight to both sides of him to check for anything out of the ordinary. _Clear. _

"God damn! It smells like shit!" He exclaimed, holding his forehand over his nose.

He slowly poked one finger in the sewage below him. Soon his whole hand was immersed in the mess, and he finally caught contact with something. A key. He pulled the chain quickly and effortlessly. _That dirty old bastard, he did it again. _

He began frantically searching for a lock. _The body. The body!_

"I'm getting you motherfucker, I swear old man!" He shouted as he walked over to the body in the corner. The body was of a man, maybe in his thirties. George had remembered him from one of the tapes,… _don't bother Adam, he is my,… special test for you." _He spied a lock on the chain, and swiftly unlocked.

A door slid open behind him, light shone through. He was free…Or was it just another test?

To Be Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

George lifted his head just enough to see the gleaming light shine through onto him. He was free. For the first time in his life, he felt freedom run through his veins and blanket him in comfort. He lifted himself from the body below him, and walked through the door.

George took in the fresh city air, and absorbed his surroundings. He recognized an office building towering to his right. He was on 5th and Square Street. He knew San Francisco as if he had made it. The sprawling streets to the left were desolate, not a single person was out. He glimpsed back toward the door, and made his way to close it. After all, he wasn't going to call the police. George had no fear of dying, and had no fear of killing those who get in his way of dying.

He started walking towards the west, one slow step at a time. He hoped nobody would pass him because he was covered in blood. It trickled from an open wound on his side. His once white dress shoes were splattered in the red concoction, making it look like something a Goth would wear. He laughed at himself. He had been in there for 24 hours straight and didn't give a shit when he got out of it all. He thought it was all silly. A child's game. He remembered when he was a child, seeing the television report bloody murder once again. _Jigsaw's infamous lair found!_ It had blasted the cover of _People Magazine_. Pictures of John Kramer were everywhere. He was dead now. And that was 25 years ago.

George flicked the light on in his grungy cheap ass apartment. He opened the door to the fridge and grabbed a cold _Cerveza_ and a slice of pineapple pizza. He slouched down on the couch and turned on the television._ More bullshit from the Global News Network, more bullshit…_ Pictures of melting glaciers passed by, only marking the beginning of what has become global warming. Ever since the Transamerica Pyramid toppled in the earthquake, he had never been the same. He lost his friends. For him, it was hard to find the right match of people to be friends with. They all had worked with him in real-estate on the 7th floor. He was angered that he didn't die with them. He was being lazy through it all. He called in sick, just because he wanted to find some slut for the day, and hang around doing nothing. Then it happened. He was in his apartment when it happened. The beer in his pitcher began rocking slowly, than pictures started falling. His wall cracked, revealing his neighbors apartment, he heard infants screaming. He began yelling for help. Glass flew out of the cabinets shattering upon the floor. He grabbed for anything. But then he went blank.

All he remembered was waking up.


	3. Chapter 3

George awoke to the mess around him. His pictures shattered, every DVD splattered upon the floor. Every dish scattered the floor, fruit scattered in different directions. Blood ran cold down the side of his face. He lifted his hand to his ear, dabbing at the blood. His windows were gone, and the cold San Francisco air poured in through the open holes, tossing the curtains in every direction. He got up and walked over to the window. Fire trucks flew by, and disoriented beings came out of apartments. There was a fire in the building directly across from him. George slowly became dizzy; the fire began circling his eyes. The people began to become blurry; noises drowned out.

He looked at the glaciers once again. He took another sip of his beer. His pizza was still untouched. It sat lazily on his coffee table, gathering dust and the local fly community. He sat up and walked over to pick up his copy of _The San Francisco Journal_ and began reading the opening title. _ Earthquake restoration begins to end after a 10 year long work period._ He skimmed the article, looking for anything of interest. _Jigsaw captures George P.10_

The newspaper dropped from his hand, landing among the dirty floor. _What the fuck? _His hands grasped the newspaper once more, and flipped to page 10. In large, bold print read '_Some people don't value their life…when things start to crack.' _

"I kill whatever delirious motherfucker did this! Ill fucking kill you! Asshole!" He exclaimed, quickly grabbing a statue of a nude angel. He began to walk around. First the bathroom, then the closets. _ Fuck. Fuck._

Then came a knock at the door.

"Who the fuck is it!?"

"It's Stacy. Your neighbor! I heard you screaming…" She yelled.

George approached the door cautiously, still grasping the statue. His grip on began to slip, sweat grabbed his palms. His hand touched the gold doorknob. He opened the door slowly.

Then came the pig.


	4. Chapter 4

" Wake up baby boy."

George awoke to the room around him. Tools laid flat across a table to his right, a brown haired woman stood before him. She wore an elegant red v-neck dress down to her thighs, slightly tinged with blood at the bottom, and a black metal necklace with some foreign symbol on it. She walked back and forth until his vision became clear, and stood still.

" You awake, son?" She said, in a soft, pretty voice.

" Why am I in here again? What the fuck?" He yelled, blood dripping from his knees. She touched him gently on the thigh. Her face was beautiful, she had two silvery-blue dots for eyes, which glared his reflection.

" You left, …and survived of course," She chuckled, " but you didn't tell noone." She brought a sexy slim painted finger to her mouth. " You showed, let's say, some courage. I have never seen anyone walk off like that, killing two people, blood splattered like a basted turkey. Well,well."

" Fuck you! Fuck. Fu- Fuck you!" he said, stumbling upon his words. He tried lifting himself, but noticed he was handcuffed upon a beaten steel chair. He screamed and cursed, shaking the chair. The girl brought a hand across his face, knocking him silent.

" I'll be a bitch if I want to sometimes, but you have to cooperate, and listen." Her harsh tone startled him, " I won't put you in another trap, because I like you. I need someone like you around here. Someone who likes the death, and the blood." She grabbed a rectangular object off the desk.

" See this? It's a remote, for that object in your stomach. It's an explosive. I know I said I wouldn't put you in a trap but until I trust you and if you don't attack me, It's staying in. Just the flick of a button, and…boom." She blew her bubble gum breath in his face, swaying her hands in the shape of an atomic mushroom.

" What the hell is this shit? Some fucking play? What do you want me to do." He whispered. She walked over to the table and opened some sort of folder and pulled out a jumble of papers.

" See this," She threw the papers in front of him, " These are plans. Your going to help me. We are going to get the people, and show them the meaning of life. You know the game. In fact you know the shit. You saw Kramer when you were young, on the television."

" Everyone did." George exclaimed.

" Than let's go to work."


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for taking so long…but I just got caught up in enjoying my winter break. Hope everything is well. Enjoy the story.

"What the hell do you think I am, your fucking slave!?" George exclaimed, spitting blood from his mouth.

"Yes, I do. That's why you're here!" She spoke in a sweet, carefree voice.

He shook his chair, trying to release from the chains he was in. Blood ran down from his cuffs and leaked onto the puddle on the floor. His eyes began to water, tears streamed down his cheeks. He began cursing and spitting shaking himself enough to tumble over sideways. George lay speechless upon the floor, only jittering garbled words.

"Why…Why me? Oh please just let me go!" Stacy bitterly slapped him.

"Men don't cry! You're going to fucking toughen up, I swear! You don't want to see the shit I can do.

"Just let me out! Just out of the chains! Fuck!" His cheeks turned red and his eyes watered more.

"I'll let you out, but you must listen. Just do what I say." She grabbed a key off the table and unlocked the handcuffs and lifted him up. She backed away quickly and grabbed the remote.

"Don't worry," He stuttered, "What the fuck can I do?" He laughed to himself and raised a hand to caress his head.

"Let's go…Come on now." She walked over to a door which seemed to have a two way mirror on it. George looked through the glass only to see another victim about to meet his fate. The victim was unconscious, lying on the floor. Some strange device was attached to him by a chain.

"As soon as he moves, the machine starts. Slowly it will begin firing up, and will then play over the familiar messages he has heard all his life. You see, this victim fought in the war. He recorded every last will and testament of his comrades. He was the only one to survive in his unit. Every day he listens to these messages in his apartment. He went crazy, he killed people that just happened to be related to his fellow fallen soldiers. And now, Jonathan will meet his fate, or just live on like you."

The machine clicked on as the two stood there, and the victim awoke.

"What is before could save your life, Jonathan, or it could deliver your death. You sat and watched your friends die on the battlefield, and then listened to each of their death wishes," John's voice was harsh and raspy; "You will hear the words of your companions very soon. Only you have the power to stop it. Live or die, make your choice. Let the games begin."


	6. Chapter 6

"Fuck this!" Jonathan yelled. He began to slowly claw at the ground, pulling away from the machinery. He reached for a tape recorder that was hidden beneath his jacket and pressed play.

"The game is simple. The box before you has the key to your life," He looked to his left and grabbed the box and began opening it, "In it are the remains of the tapes you have played day after day, but one remains untouched. Ethan is before you, the one person you did not kill, who lived with you throughout your training; but you have always had a desire to kill him. And now is your chance." A light flicked on revealing the lost friend hanging in chains. He was encased in glass and blood poured from a wound in his stomach. "There is a bullet wound in his stomach, and soon enough he will bleed to death. Now is your chance to kill him." Jonathan pulled a pistol from the box, with one bullet in it. He spun the chamber and loaded the bullet.

"You can end his life with only one bullet, or you can save him and let that bullet put you to rest. You can let him die, it is your choice."

The message ended as tears streamed from his cheeks. He held the gun tight, screaming as the machine came closer and closer. He was unsure of what fate he would meet once he met the end of the chain. Thirty seconds passed, then sixty. The chain inched closer, and finally Jonathan moved.

Ethan had just awoken from unconsciousness and began screaming. Jonathan covered his ears. He turned to look at the mirror on the door. _ It's a two way mirror. Oh shit. I'm being watched._

"Fuck you. Fuck you!" He swung the gun up at the mirror. George ducked but Stacy stood still.

"How can you let this happen, you motherfucker?" George exclaimed at Tracy.

Jonathan raised the gun to his chin.

He fired it.


	7. Chapter 7

Sweat ran from George's temple while his feet pushed the sheets back. He ran his fingers down Stacy's legs as she wrapped her hand around his neck. Their lips chased each other back and forth. The window curtains flew around in crazed spells and the smell of gasoline entered the room. The springs rattled and the wood beneath the floral mattress creaked. George's hands made their way down to Stacy's chest as they began rocking back and forth.

Something grabbed George's arm and shook him. "George, wake up. George, wake up now." George's eyes opened to see Stacy standing over him.

"We need to go, someone's here." She handed him a handgun. It was loaded.

George began thinking. It was his only chance to get out of here. She didn't have a gun. George got to his feet. He pulled on his blue sweatpants and walked toward the door. He heard footsteps. Two people. Stacy opened a drawer at the workbench and pulled out a silenced mg-42.

"Holy shit." George exclaimed as she cocked backed the loader.

George opened the door and jumped out aiming the gun down the stairs. A flashlight beaconed at the bottom of the stairs. The two continued to talk, not noticing George at the top. He tried to listen to what they were saying. It was Russian. Then one of them fired.

George ducked back into the doorway, more bullets flew up. Their guns were silenced. George blind fired over the ledge of the stairway. Stacy came out and began firing. After she had fired at least 100 rounds a minute, the Russians were silent. George beckoned towards the stairs and Stacy nodded. As George ascended, the Russians came running up the stairs. One grabbed the gun from George and Stacy began shooting again. George grabbed one of the guys and threw him over the balcony. He fell and hit the floor loudly, and did not get up. George grabbed his gun and shot the other one.

George looked at one the men. He was dark and reeked of filth. He had not shaved for sometime and wore old an old tracksuit with a tacky, beat up pair of dress shoes. George searched him for anything that might be on him. George removed his shirt and looked at the man's necklace. It was a pair of gold sickle and hammers with a bright blue skull in the middle. He looked at Stacy

"Rayjovic."


End file.
